Loras and Joffrey have a 'talk'
by grape-boy
Summary: Loras is informing Joffrey on matters of the King's Guard. Joffrey is bored. Somehow, the conversation switches to the young King confiding in Loras, to some extent, and the two could be said to have a certain understanding of each other by the end of it. One-shot.


Joffrey rolled his eyes. As much as he didn't want to admit it, his mother had been right; matters for the king were _dull_. He was being lectured by Loras Tyrell on some matter about the King's Guard. He rolled his eyes again. This was dull.

"Your Grace," the Knight of Flowers said. Joffrey blinked slowly and glared.  
"What?" he drawled.  
"Forgive me, Your Grace, but were you paying attention? This is a rather serious matter."

Joffrey shifted in his seat, resting his arm on the arm of the chair, draping himself over it.  
"Is it?" he said "If it's so important, why isn't my uncle, Commander of the Kings Guard, informing me? Why has the task fallen to _you_?"

"Your uncle is busy, Your Grace," Loras started.  
"I don't care," Joffrey said, sneering "I don't need your excuses, you degenerate."  
Loras winced. Joffrey smirked.

"You don't like that word? It's what you are. Degenerate."  
Loras closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He could take this type of thing from most people, but not him, not Joffrey. He was sorely tempted to tell him the truth about his parentage, to repeat the more detailed rumours about what Cersei and Jaime Lannister got up to, but decided against it.

Instead, he stepped forward a pace.  
"Your Grace," he said, leaning over the table Joffrey was sitting behind, his face close to the young king's "With respect, I am ten times the knight you will ever be, the only man on the King's Guard who could compare to me is your uncle but that was before he lost his sword hand. I have spent most of my life training to kill and can do so with more weapons than just swords and spears. I am also commanded to protect you. You are in my care.

"I am close to you most of the time, as are my orders. I would also wish to point out that it is not unknown for members of the Kings Guard to be, how shall we say, _forceful_ with their kings. Why, you should know that, your uncle being who he is. So I suggest the next time you are tempted to insult me you remember who I am and what I can do."

Loras straightened, staying where he was, staring into King Joffrey's face. He was daring him to react. But Joffrey's face changed in a way he did not expect. It softened. The King peered around him to look at the door, which was closed.

Joffrey said something that Loras did not catch.  
"Your Grace?" he said.  
"How…" Joffrey said quietly "How do you do it?"  
"How do I do what, Your Grace?" Loras was confused "Uh, swordsmanship, do you mean?"

Joffrey snorted.  
"I guess you could call it that," he said "How do you… How did you know you were," Joffrey sighed and shook his head. He bit his lip and continued, forcing the words out "How did you know you were… degenerate?"

Loras blinked, open-mouthed. He felt as if this was a trick, but couldn't think of a reason why it would be. Perhaps he was being tricked into admitting his activities, perhaps it had just been made a crime so that he could be dismissed from the Kings Guard.  
"Um, uh," was all he could say.

"I've never felt," Joffrey said, standing now, pacing around the room. He was clearly struggling for the right words "I've never felt… I've always felt…. You know? Kind of… Different.

"This talk of growing up and wedding and," Joffrey grimaced very slightly "Bedding a wife, it's never felt… Comfortable. Was that how it was for you? Is that… Is that normal? Does it make me degenerate?"

"Your Grace," Loras started.  
"I could _play_ the part well enough with the Stark girl when I was told to. 'Be gracious', my mother said, 'be her noble prince'. And I could do that, but…"  
Joffrey turned to face Loras, standing some two feet away.

"My uncle, not Jaime, the Imp, sent two whores to my chambers, did you know that? I came in and found them here and I… I couldn't… I didn't… I didn't find them… Attractive. They were whores, I suppose, fine bedfellows for an Imp and the common folk but not for myself, right? That could have been what was happening?"

"I suppose so, Your Grace," Loras said, but Joffrey didn't seem to be listening.  
"I… I got rid of them," he said, looking at the floor "But it's, it's been on my mind. And then having to wed your sister. I… I feel… This is not how a king should be!"

Loras waited to see if Joffrey was going to say anything more.  
"Your Grace-"  
"Don't call me that."  
"Your Grace," Loras insisted "And I will call you 'Your Grace' because that is your title, no matter who you prefer to take to bed.

"To be a king, you must have a wife and a child, there is nothing that can be done about that. But no-one need know anything else that may happen in the royal bedchamber. As for what you feel, I cannot help. But I can relate, which perhaps might tell you something."

Joffrey nodded, his tongue planted in his cheek.  
"Yes," he said. The sneering drawl in his voice was returning "Yes. Fine. Thank you, Ser Loras, you may go now."

Loras bowed and began to leave.  
"And this discussion never happened," Joffrey said. Loras nodded.  
"Hmmm," Joffrey continued "Perhaps I should have your tongue. You might make Ilyn Payne feel less lonely."

"If you want my tongue, Your Grace, you need only ask," Loras said, flashing a smile as he backed out of the room. Joffrey opened his mouth to form a retort, closed it, blushed, and nodded. He collapsed back into his chair. He felt better.


End file.
